


you let your battles choose you (but i had no choice in choosing mine)

by followinyourafterglow



Category: The Royals (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Marriage of Convenience, and their potential, i don't even, i'm trash, other than being frustrated by their chemistry, there's no excuse to write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 05:11:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12646782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followinyourafterglow/pseuds/followinyourafterglow
Summary: Robert carries his own circumstances like an anchor he can't get rid of. All the things said about him, and everything he has said, they stick to him as surely as the things she's done and said stick to her, carrying the weight of them until they permanently become a part of her. So perhaps agreeing to this marriage, agreeing to become the queen, isn't so much about facing the consequences of their burdens; perhaps it's about having those parts of yourself back after they've been scattered across the floor like lost marbles, like pieces neither of them knew how to regain any other way.





	you let your battles choose you (but i had no choice in choosing mine)

**Author's Note:**

> Part of me thinks Robert is a sociopath and the other part doesn’t really care. Long live the true king tbh.

 

 

 

 

The country suffers from governance that leaves much to be desired. Their freedoms are incomplete. Willow learns this a long time ago. But the thing is, in this world, with this monarchy, the rulers have no absolute power and not all savagery is a public affair.

 

(This lesson she has learned the hardest.)

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

It starts with afternoon tea in the parlour.  

 

Willow is only entertaining Robert’s proposal because part of her knows she’s hit a roadblock. There’s only so much she can do sitting at her desk, scouring through professional photographs, adjusting the filtering, thinking of the perfect caption and narrative for a group of people she doesn’t really know (not truly, maybe not ever). She’s going to stand her ground, Willow decides. This time, she is going to be brave and take a calculated chance. A leap of faith, no doubt, but the type she once wished someone could do for her.

 

She has made these calculations before. They are the sorts of decisions that keep her alive, sometimes even awake at night, a sort of roaring that runs in her blood. One which she was born into and from which she cannot really escape.

 

She’s Wilhelmina Moreno and that means something to her. Even as she’s determined to figure out what it is exactly that Robert wants from her and what she can gain in return, she’s reminded that It could mean a whole lot more someday too.  

 

Robert makes no grand promises. Does not try to persuade her with glamour or glimpses of power. She’s already too aware of what this it and what it will take, even living on the periphery of it, its in the heaviness of her breath, a coating along her skin.  But Willow can have the ability to redraw lines, blending colours and making new ones entirely. And maybe that could be a good thing, a better way for her to channel her efforts and resources. She can’t picture what life is meant to be if one doesn’t work to make those experiences possibilities.

 

So perhaps the idea of being a queen doesn’t seem entirely implausible. The idea of living that life with Robert Henstridge is an entirely different and possibly daunting question.

 

His expression is bright and lips taught as he grins, all charming and collected, but Robert is reserved. This much Willow has gathered from the moment he had returned. Robert is curt and precise with his words. Practised even. The types of things she is not but sometimes strives a little too hard to be. When Willow finally asks about his time on the island, there’s a wild look in Robert’s eye, something she cannot put a name to or doesn’t really know how. It makes Willow realize that despite people's efforts to make it appear so, the media, the public, even this family, despite everyone’s attempts at labelling and bordering, there is rarely anything that is starkly black and white. Perhaps no difference between the man in front of her, the king, but also a survivor of sorts. Of a whole lot of things Willow is only just realizing she can have the opportunity to unpack in ways sitting in her office and staring at photos of him will never be able to.

 

Robert is not perfect – he’s managed to isolate himself from both Liam and their uncle. Maybe that’s not his fault, not when everyone is excited for his reign and he hasn’t managed to commit a PR disaster that has her or others up at all hours. Willow can’t fully imagine what sort of life Robert has had aside from the boarding schools, the formality and poise, the choices and the expectations that come with being a crown prince. But for someone who was alone on an island for several months, it’s a little unnerving to see how rehearsed and polished Robert still manages to be. Willow wonders what it would be like to reach out and grab at him, to rip and pull, exposing old scars and making him messy with her hands. He seems like the type of person to be very good at hiding and she can’t help but wonder what he thinks of her beyond the confines of their conversations and the information he has likely had gathered about her.

 

“You are aware with what happened between Liam and I, right?” She questions plainly, “You must be.”

 

Robert stares at her. His mouth presses into a thin line, giving nothing away. “I heard there may have been something.”

 

“Yes, well, there wasn’t,” Willow pauses. It still hurts to remember what it took from her to make herself that vulnerable to him, to anyone really. It’s not something she’d like Robert to be aware of right now so she pushes past the weight ballooning in her chest. “If this is to work, I need you to start to become comfortable telling me the truth.”

 

He’s silent for a moment, probably not expecting her to end their discussion with demands this soon, or maybe any for that matter. Willow is not naïve; she can’t afford to be anymore. It’s why she needs to be explicit this time. Maybe she can fall in love with Robert, maybe he can love her in return. But she cannot even think to go through with this if she cannot trust him.

 

“Alright,” Roberts nods, leaning back into his chair.

 

She sighs, nodding in response too, her fingers dancing around the rim of her empty tea cup. Willow notices the way his face changes, appearing more at ease. As if Robert has felt this same immeasurable desire at some point in his life, just as deep, painful and consuming at times as Willow does.

 

“I would–”

 

“There’s something else,” Willow cuts him off, emboldened now. “I will protect you and your crown. However, I won’t do it if it means destroying Liam in the process. We’re not particularly good friends anymore, that is the truth. But I don’t hurt the people I care about.”

 

Robert stares at her, fixedly and as if he is working under a dare, bold. Willow sniffs, staring back at him, her confidence feeding off her sudden sense of clarity between what she wants and needs after all –  the ability of thrive in something she can feel good about achieving but also balance and control when she doesn’t or can’t. Willow knows to keep them both where the marriage is the weight, keeping the two planted and filling them out over her skin, so that she can feel a little more solid, a little more full. Maybe never having to feel any empty space ever again.

 

And that means she cannot lose herself.

 

Willow can feel her heart slowly start to climb into her throat, placed for tearing out. Robert watches her through squinting eyes now, still absorbing or deciding on what's been said. She can appreciate the fact that he doesn’t quickly jump into a lie, that he’s taking her seriously. There’s also a very real possibility Robert is already past that, now at the part of rationalizing her words, trying to ascertain their origins and what else they entail. Trying to determine what she’s hiding. Willow’s back stiffens at the thought, wondering about all of Robert’s secrets and the root of them too.

 

He’s been quiet again to the point that it begins to feel uncomfortable. Willow reaches for the napkin on her lap, preparing to stand, her stomach churning strangely.

 

“Wait,” Robert says, sensing her intention to leave. Willow stills. He scratches his chin slowly, taking a deep breath. This is the most unrehearsed she has ever seen him and it ignites her curiosity again. “I understand your decision.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

Robert raises an eyebrow. “I think loyalty is a rather admirable trait.”

 

“Even in this case?”

 

“Yes.” He reaches for the last chocolate biscuit on the table, biting into it thoughtfully.

 

“Are you certain?” The words leave her mouth in a sudden rush.

 

“It seems you are trying very hard to get me to rethink putting you at the top of my list.”

 

The sun hangs low in the sky now, filtering a warm orange glow into the room. The light catches on the edge of his cheekbones and Willow fights to look at him directly to get the clarification she needs.

 

“I reckon there’s nothing wrong with being thorough.”

 

The muscle in Robert’s jaw jumps. “I understand it because I’d like to think if you can still care for someone after that, you can perhaps extend to me the same courtesy.”

 

Willow inhales. There’s a void opening up now, something vast that maybe feels impossible to jump across or fill, to make meaning of, to get across and to get to him. “I meant what I said.”

 

“I know,” he says, the corners of his mouth turning upward. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate your thoroughness too.”

 

She had thought that the thing about Robert was understanding what it is like to be pushed to the edge, only to claw back, to realize that there are things in life one learns other than their ability to endure.

 

But Willow now knows that there’s more to it than that.

 

Because even though everyone thought he was dead, even though Robert finds himself under the public eye as king, even though some people only see him in one colour or two, and even thought she is just beginning to know him, Willow can picture Robert in the shades of white and black, in the hues of red and blue and yellow. She can’t help but be stupefied by it either, wondering about it and what that means for how she can perceive the world and her place moving forward in it.

 

It’s something she has thought about growing up and even more since moving to London. Perception. And now Willow thinks of what it really means, for people like her, for Robert and for ordinary people too. Perhaps there’s something here that Robert can teach her, and perhaps, Willow thinks, there’s something she can teach him too.

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

(They’re in a town car after the end of a charity ball sponsored by one of the organizations Willow looked into.

 

“I’m exhausted,” she sighs, turning to rest her cheek against the leather headrest of her seat. It’s their first public event together in a while after weeks of them being busy with their respective duties. “You’ve been quiet this evening.”

 

“I’ve got a lot on my mind, is all,” Robert responds.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Got into another asinine argument with Liam.”

 

Willow exhales. “What about?”

 

“Doesn’t really matter anymore,” he answers, shaking his head. “All our fights usually end the same way.”

 

Robert has always been quick to analyze, to study and to work towards some sort of conclusion that typically involves heavy compartmentalizing. That's what reminds Willow of how much they're alike. She watches him and can't find it in herself to stop looking at him.

 

“I’ve been the crown prince my entire life. I spent every waking moment preparing to be king,” Robert starts suddenly, turning to face her.  “When I was on the island, I reckon it was the closest I have ever been at being who I truly am and I’m not certain I like who that is.”

 

There are things she wants to tell him right then and there. Burdens Willow wants to share so the weight of them won't feel as heavy or odd anymore. She wants to tell him things and demand answers from him, but knows they will give away too much too soon, but still she asks, “Do you like who you are as king?”

 

Her words make him catch his breath. “I’m not entirely certain of that either.”

 

Willow thinks about kissing him then, eyes scanning his face, the edge of his cheekbones, the slight wrinkles at the edge of his eyes. She settles for resting her hand on his forearm. Robert stares at it for a moment, at the ring on her left finger, before enclosing his hand over hers.)

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

The royal wedding is as opulent as she had expected.

 

The state carriages gleam in the sunlight, even managing to reflect off the silk underneath the lace of her dress.  The cathedral is adjourned with flowers, the guests arriving in their town cars, faces set and critical as ever, the works. Most of it is grandeur that Willow has slowly become accustomed to. But it isn’t the looks or the weight of the ceremony itself that’s the most daunting thing about the occasion, so much as the cameras, trained in her direction, prickling into her skin, like they mean to twist and wrench her across the pews.

 

There is momentary relief, when they recite their vows, when her voice echoes inside the old stone and wood building, only slightly quivering but certain, when Robert’s gloved hands reach to lift her veil, seeing her clearly without the mesh, pressing a kiss on her mouth, that Willow remembers the choices she has made. Willow has grown knowing what sweat feels like in her bones, like the dry heat of the farm during the summers she grew up in. They shape her and prepare her to handle what this day and all the days ahead of her will bring.

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

There’s champagne on ice in Robert’s bedroom. Willow pours herself a glass when she spots it, the amber liquid slipping easily over her tongue and down her throat, igniting her belly. She walks over to the bedside lamps, flicking them on and off, trying to release the day’s nervous energy inside of her.

 

She had changed out of her wedding dress after the ceremony, carefully strewing the fabric across the length of her bed in her new room of the palace. It didn’t take long before someone had entered and whisked it away for safekeeping, nearly catching Willow off-guard. She’s always been on the outside looking in that despite working for the palace before this, even the simplest tasks being done for her feels foreign.

 

Willow tightens the knot of her robe, sighing softly as she sits on the edge of the bed, closing her eyes. She opens them when she hears the click of the door handle, turning to look over her shoulder as Robert enters the room. He stills when he sees her, checking his watch as he closes the door.

 

He asks, “I thought we agreed to meet in your room.”

 

She purses her lips. “I was getting bored.”

 

“I’m not late, am I? I tried to leave earlier–”

 

Willow waves her hands dismissively. “It’s alright, I know you haven’t had much time to see your friends from the Air Force after… well after you came back.”

 

Robert stills from where he is across the room from her, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. She takes note of the line of Robert’s shoulders, how they are slightly more relaxed now, or perhaps just tired from being worn out by the day. When Willow’s gaze snaps back to his, her heart jumps into her throat.

 

It’s not an entirely surreal experience to have the king stare at her. If anything, the past several months have moulded her for this. The public outings, the press junkets, the formal galas and dinners with dignitaries and leaders. Willow has worked hard to weave herself into her role as a future queen, to build the foundations of this marriage. It’s only expected that sometimes her glance will flicker to Robert, in between camera flashes or over the heads of their guests, and find that his eyes are drawn to her too.  

 

Robert’s presence in general is something Willow has had to grow accustomed to. Whether they are attending these functions together, or at the palace, preparing and planning for them. Maybe what Willow could not anticipate is not knowing what it means when her throat constricts when he’s near her sometimes, when his closeness hums under skin.

 

“Everything alright, Willow?” He finally asks, walking over to the dresser to take off his watch and cufflinks. She looks at him through his reflection in the dresser mirror.

 

Willow nods, placing her hands down on both sides of the mattress. “Are you certain you want to do this?”

 

Roberts turns to face her, brown eyes dancing in the soft lamplight. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

 

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

 

It’s the truth and a lie all rolled into one. She’d be here regardless of whatever entanglements or feelings she has. It is their wedding night; there are certain implications that it carries and she would not have accepted if she’s not prepared to meet them.  But Willow would be lying if she said she hasn’t spent some time in the past few weeks, in the midst of the wedding preparations and organizing her own campaigns, thinking about this, of the idea of the two of them, of her pressed against him.

 

(This is not the only lie, of course. Because this isn’t the first time. The other time was when the family had hosted the new American ambassador who barely contained his distaste for the monarchy. After everyone had retired, she and Robert had both gotten drunk from the remaining wine and their own quips, wandering around the palace, finding themselves in one of empty bedrooms and frantically trying to create as much friction between the two of them as possible. Hands hot as they struggled to get past clothing and onto skin.

 

There’s another lie in here too.

 

That Willow doesn’t know what it’s like to wake up later that night and find Robert shivering on the floor, sweat gathering at his temples, whimpering in his sleep. What it’s like to coax a king into bed in an entirely different way.)

 

“Alright,” Robert nods, unbuttoning his collared shirt and laying it on the back of a nearby chaise chair.

 

Willow adjusts slightly where she is sitting, watching as he crosses the short distance and slowly sinks to the floor in front of her. She stares at him carefully, paying close attention to the smirk that grows on his lips as he leans forward, resting his forearms on the bed on either side of her.

 

Willow does not pull back, fighting the sudden urge to respond by edging closer to him.

 

“I’d like to extend a fair warning. You might get much more than you bargained for last time.”

 

She snorts, “I sincerely hope so.”

 

Robert looks affronted and Willow can’t help but chuckle.

 

“You’re cruel.”

 

“No, I just like taking risks,” she whispers, her fingers reaching for him, fisting into the fabric of his undershirt and pulling until her lips fuse to his.

 

Robert responds immediately, inhaling sharply as one of his hands rises to hold the nape of her neck. Their mouths move slowly, like they are trying to figure each other out. It’s warm and pleasant and Willow finds herself holding her breath, memorizing the moment. When they pull back, eyes sliding open, Robert murmurs her name in a way that makes her heart stutter and causes something inside her to start to burn.

 

Willow tries to make better sense of it, leaning over to wrap her arms around Robert’s neck, edging herself off the bed just enough to press against him. This time her lips turn hungry, a little desperate, over his. Roberts hands at on her sides, and Willow can feel him through her robe as the start to travel over to her backside. It’s different than any other time they have kissed, in public or for a photo, even that time at the palace that one night. Robert starts to kiss her like he might know her, might know her deepest secrets before she’s even revealed them to herself. It doesn’t make any sense but as her tongue starts to flick against his, Willow finds that she doesn’t care.

 

Things start to unravel almost completely after that, with his fingers in her hair and her skin on fire from the smell of him, all cologne and soap and entirely _Robert_. Her robe comes off first and then his shirt, her fingers clumsy as she pulls it from his trousers and up and over Robert’s head. Willow’s hands trace the muscle of his chest and tiny scars left there from events past as Robert pushes her onto her back, settling in between her thighs. She bends her knees to accommodate him, mouth on his, shivering at the feel of his fingers finding the dips and contours of her body through her slip.

 

“Take off your trousers,” she rasps, pulling away to catch her breath.

 

Willow can hear the buckle of belt and the scratch of the zipper as Robert does as he is told. She sits up on her elbows to watch, a sudden and unexpected sound escapes from her when he proceeds to take everything off in one flush movement. When Robert climbs back over to her, and she wraps her leg around his bare waist, Willow can’t help the instinctive twist of her hips as she grinds into him. He’s _so hard_ and that only makes her ache more, now feeling a little reckless with it.

 

Robert’s hand slips between them, his fingers pushing her chemise over her waist and then into the slim fabric underneath. He hums when he finds her already wet and waiting. Robert stares at her, hair pulled in a hundred different directions, lips swollen and face flushed, as he helps slip off her underwear. Willow sighs as he slides down to the edge of the bed, pulling her thighs further apart as he begins to use his mouth tirelessly against her.

 

His touch is so hot and Willow does her best to grasp and cling to the bedsheets, back arching, fingernails digging into his forearms. Her blood pulses like a livewire under her skin. She thinks she makes a sound that is needy and desperate, something that might be between a whisper or a moan, but Willow’s not certain.

 

She’s not sure of much anymore.

 

Robert pulls away, moving back up and burying his head in the crook of her neck as his fingers work against and inside her, and teeth gently working the soft skin behind her ear. Before Willow can think, she's writhing beneath him, coming hard and choking around the words at the back of her throat as he coaxes her softly.

 

"Willow," He says, all rough and hoarse. His jaw twitches as if he’s fighting something, trying to keep himself under control.  

 

“Robert,” She manages to murmur, her hands flattening against the smoothness of his stomach.

 

Her arousal starts to coil again as she kisses him softly and Robert works at removing her chemise. The chill of the room hits her chest, raising goosebumps along her skin. Robert uses the heat of his mouth along her hip bone to navel, up the space between her breasts to the dip at the center of her collar bone. He doesn’t look away from her, like he’s trying to commit her to memory too. And the thought of it ignites her earlier ache again, uncontrollable this time, the wantonness of it preparing to turn her inside out. Willow sits up, palms against his shoulders as she pushes Robert to the bed, her thighs settling on either side of him as she presses herself against the line of his body.

 

She leans over to kiss him, taking him in her hand, squeezing and tugging, swallowing his groans as he shifts underneath her. Robert’s hands are suddenly on her breasts and she opens her mouth to say something but can’t seem to form words, her heart starting to pound in her ears. One of his hands reaches for the side of her face, thumb brushing over her lower lip. Willow looks at him, the ruined hair, the blush that’s creeped up his neck, and thinks maybe she can love him after all.

 

Willow guides him in between her legs, breathing carefully as she slowly sinks onto him completely. Robert’s fingers are tight around her hips as she closes her eyes, rising and sinking, trying to figure out the flow of their movements. Robert thrusts up into her suddenly, causing the both of them to gasp. He does it again, hips raising to meet hers. Willow moans, looking at him through half-lidded eyes, matching his rhythm.  

 

“Come here,” Robert whispers raggedly. She leans over, slanting her lips over his as his hands move to hold both sides of her face. Willow can feel the tremors from his body where her chest brushes against his. She counts the lines on his forehead and those around his mouth, filing them away in her memory.

 

Robert sits up, rolling them over. The new angle causes her breath to shudder, her legs starting to tangle with his. He makes a deep, low sound, thrusting deeper and kissing the skin where her shoulder meets her neck. Willow can hear him against her ear, his groans making her feel impossibly hot, like she’s having a fever, sweat breaking out along her spine. She clenches around him as she arches up into him, causing his hips to snap forward, his pace growing more erratic.

 

“Robert,” Her voice cracks and she holds onto his back tighter, his muscles flexing wildly underneath her touch. “Robert.”

 

“Yes,” is all he can say as his hand trickles over her stomach, brushing the underside of her breast, fumbling in between them before pressing rough circles with his thumb.

 

Willow comes again, blinding hot and fast, fingers clenching into sheets and skin, eyes closing to the relentless surge of his hips. Robert is not far behind her, coming with a barely contained whimper, mouth pressed against her shoulder.

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

When she returns from cleaning up, Willow wordlessly puts on her robe and gathers her slip from the side of the bed. Robert is standing at his dresser again, adjusting the drawstring of his pajama bottoms.

 

“Are you leaving?” He asks when he notices her turning towards the door.

 

Willow shifts her weight onto her back foot as she faces him. “Yes, I thought–”

 

“Thought you could fuck the king and then make a run for it?” Robert jests, coming to sit on the edge of his bed. It’s the sort of absurdly saccharine thing only he can say at a moment like this, and it only mildly surprises her.

 

“Just about,” she retorts, meeting his gaze daringly, fighting back against the smirk growing on her lips.

 

When he grins at her, it stretches across his face, and Willow is sort of struck by it. “You should stay. It’s late. We can order some food if you’d like. Perks of being a king.”

 

“I’m pretty certain the human race has reached the age where even common folk can order food at any hour.”

 

Robert shrugs. “Still.”

 

Willow doesn’t need to be asked twice. “I am famished…”

 

“See?”

 

“I won’t do it for you.”

 

Robert chuckles a little. “Sure.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
